Firestorm Forever

by Deborah Cooke

  “I have to head back anyway,” Sloane admitted, then bent to kiss her. He was never going to get enough of this woman and couldn’t imagine how even a firestorm could compete with this.

  “Dragons to slay?” Sam teased and Sloane chuckled.

  “Something like that.”

  “I was thinking about the Slayer in the fridge.”

  “I try not to think about him.”

  Sam twisted to look at him. “What happened when you put the Dracontias into his blood? Did it purify his blood of the Elixir.”

  Sloane frowned. “Theoretically, it wouldn’t make him Pyr again, because that’s a choice. The Elixir, though, does cause a physiological change.” Sloane realized that Sam was watching him closely.

  “Theoretically?” she echoed, her disappointment clear.

  “I’ve wanted to try out your idea, but I haven’t been able to work with his blood at all,” he admitted. “It’s so corrosive that it burns through everything. There are holes in the bench now, and in the floor. They might have burned right into the earth below.”

  Sam nodded. “The only thing that can contain it then is a Slayer’s own body. Interesting. Okay, I see two options. One of the guys I know from school works at NASA. They might have developed something to contain highly corrosive substances. I could ask for a little help.”

  Sloane instinctively disliked the idea of bringing another person into the circle of those who knew any of the Pyr’s secrets. “What’s the other idea?”

  Sam smiled. “Put it in the Slayer’s mouth, then take a sample of his blood after it makes a change.”

  “I wonder how long it will take.”

  “I could ask my sister Jac. She said she used it to heal Marco’s burns, and I think that was pretty quick.”

  Sloane looked at her intently. “Jac is your sister? The mate of Marco?”

  “Jac is my sister,” Sam agreed, obviously not understanding what he meant. “And her new boyfriend is named Marco. His real name is Marcus evidently, but I don’t know that I’d call her his mate…”

  “Of course, she is. They had a firestorm!” Sloane said, interrupting her, and Sam stared at him in shock.

  “He’s Pyr?”

  “You never talked about it?”

  “She’s not telling me a lot about him, come to think of it, but we have a lot of catching up to do. I’m glad she’s so happy.”

  Sloane nodded, seeing that Sam was still startled by this realization. “Where did she get the Dracontias?”

  Sam shoved a hand through her hair. “Jac said she stole it from the hidden library of Ivan the Terrible, in Moscow, but I didn’t really believe her…”

  “And she shot Rafferty, on Easter Island, with the darkfire crystal.”

  “She went there with some guy, maybe the same guy, but I don’t know if she shot the dragon. She was hunting dragons and I recognized her voice in that video.” Sam sat up. “She came to visit me afterward.”

  “Which was why Rafferty kept saying ‘she’ was nearby.” Sloane nodded with satisfaction. “It makes perfect sense. They had their firestorm in Australia, in the spring.”

  “Is she pregnant?”

  Sloane nodded, wondering what her reaction would be. “The firestorm is satisfied.”

  Sam fell back against the pillows, chewing her lip. “Which explains why she’s so happy, and a little bit secretive about him.” She flicked a glance at Sloane. “He had a firestorm because he’s a good dragon, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Good.”

  Sloane had a thought then, one he didn’t want to express aloud. It defied all possibility to him, that another Pyr could have a firestorm with the sister of a mate. He realized only then that he’d been hoping he and Sam might have a firestorm one day, but this just proved what wishful thinking that was.

  He returned the conversation to the Dracontias. “So, I’ll ask Marco and Jac, then try her strategy on the Slayer. And if it works, we could use it—”

  “Or pieces of it,” Sam suggested, seemingly as relieved to return to their earlier discussion as he was.

  “As an antidote to the Elixir, which will ensure that those Slayers who are injured don’t heal as readily.” Sloane nodded, liking the idea a lot.

  “A secret weapon.” Sam smiled at him, her hair tousled and her eyes alight. “Maybe enough of an advantage to rid the world of Slayers completely.”

  Sloane held Sam more tightly, both encouraged and disappointed. “That’s brilliant. You’re brilliant. Thank you!” Sam smiled at him and Sloane knew right then that he was going to ensure she was late for work.

  He tried not to think of this interval as their last farewell, but the possibility was definitely in his mind.

  One thing was for certain: he would ensure she never forgot him.

  * * *

  Erik watched for Sloane’s return, standing in the spiral that Lee had created and surveying the sky. The sunflowers were in bloom now and tall around the perimeter, while the calendula flowered in profusion in the middle. It was a spiral of glorious yellow and orange in daylight, all the hues of the sun gathered together. He liked to stand in the middle of it and savor the awareness that he was alive.

  What did their future hold? Erik couldn’t see past the final eclipse. He saw dragons battling, a great many Slayers resembling Boris, and himself locking talons with at least one of them. He saw the red of a blood moon and a night filled with stars. He felt the great wrench of change, but he wasn’t certain what it would be.

  He thought of the children the Pyr had brought into the world, and he feared for their futures. Would they died if the Pyr were lost? Would they become human? If Jorge was triumphant and the children still lived, Erik had to believe they would be hunted and slaughtered, just to ensure there was no chance of any Pyr surviving.

  He thought of Zoë, the blood of his heart, and feared for a moment when he wouldn’t be able to defend her, when she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. It was a father’s worst nightmare.

  He thought of humans, exposed only to the malice and fury of Slayers like Jorge, and feared that all the treasures of the world would be lost in the absence of the Pyr.

  He wanted to triumph more than he had ever wanted anything in all his long life, but Erik didn’t know what to do. It was impossible to really strategize. It was impossible to form a solid plan. They combed Machu Picchu for potential eggs, but the eggs wouldn’t be identifiable as what they were until the light of the blood moon touched them, and the clones within quickened. All of the clones and Jorge himself had proven that they could spontaneously manifest elsewhere, which meant there were no safe havens. He had conferred with the Pyr and gathered their impressions as well as the information they held. He would make the best plan, hope for the best, and dare to believe that the sacrifice of the Pyr would not be his legacy.

  The prophecy swirled in his thoughts yet again.

  Three blood moons mark the debt come due

  Will the Pyr triumph or be hunted anew?

  Three eclipses will awaken the spark

  In thirteen monsters breeding in dark…

  Three times the firestorm will spark

  Before darkfire fades into the dark.

  Firestorm, mate or blood sacrifice

  None or all can be the darkfire’s price.

  When the Dragon’s Tail has turned its bore

  And darkfire dies forevermore

  Will the Pyr be left to rule with might

  Or disappear into past’s twilight?

  Six more clones could be expected then, and they believed they would hatch at Machu Picchu. All of them would want Erik dead. Would he be the blood sacrifice? The Dragon’s Tail was a time of karmic rebalance, after all. It might be that because Sigmund had been his son, because Sigmund had turned Slayer because of the rift between they two, because Sigmund had been the one to devise the clones, that any balancing of debts would require Erik’s death.

  If his execution saved the Pyr and
his daughter, Erik would pay the price willingly.

  He abruptly felt a presence behind him and wondered who had joined him beneath the stars. Erik turned slightly, not truly surprised to find his lost son behind him when that Slayer had been so bright in his thoughts. The ghost of Sigmund gestured to the apparition that accompanied him.

  “The blood moon will ripen the eggs,” Sigmund repeated in old-speak.

  Tynan, formerly the Apothecary of the Pyr, bowed his head before Erik. The sight of him tightened Erik’s throat, for he had liked and trusted this Pyr well. “‘The caduceus is the mark of he who can wake the sleeping and send the awake to sleep.’” Tynan said, the Irish lilt in his voice achingly familiar and reminding Erik of their shared past. “The Apothecary must decide, that he may heal the world with his choice.”

  Before Erik could ask for clarification, the two specters shimmered, then disappeared from view. He heard the flap of Sloane’s wings and felt the shimmer of the other Pyr shifting shape as he landed. Erik turned to meet Sloane’s gaze, noting the frustration in his eyes, and bit back a confession of his vision.

  “I have an idea about the Slayer,” Sloane said with purpose. “I might be able to counteract the Elixir.”

  Erik almost smiled. “So that you can put the Slayers to sleep forever.”

  “Not quite that,” Sloane admitted. “But if they aren’t immortal, that can only help our side. I’ll need to talk to Marco and his mate, Jac.”

  “I’ll contact them. Can I assist you in any way?”

  Sloane smiled. “I’d like that. Thanks, Erik.”

  As they strode back to the house and the sleeping Pyr, Erik dared to take hope from the Apothecary’s sense of purpose.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  September 28, 2015

  Knowing he was doing the right thing didn’t make it any easier.

  Sloane took a vacation for the first time since the Seattle virus had struck. He hiked through the mountains in Peru, following the Inca trail from Chillca and camping at night. The solitude helped him to prepare for the challenge ahead and to make his peace with whatever the result might be.

  For the Pyr and for himself.

  Sam had been right about the Dracontias, and it had dispelled the Elixir from the clone’s body. Erik had taken great satisfaction in battling that Slayer and killing him, then the Pyr had ensured he was decapitated and burned to ash. Sloane had prepared a solution with the dissolved Dracontias and distributed syringes of it to his fellows.

  Then there had been little to do but train and wait.

  Sloane dared to be optimistic about their chances.

  Even so, he wanted time to make his peace with what he had done and not done in his long life, in case all did not go well. He felt as if he could talk with his father again in those mist-shrouded mountains. The light reminded him of Ireland and the murmur of the wind recalled his father’s old-speak. Tynan had always been optimistic, always certain that good had to triumph in the end.

  Sloane had to choose to believe that, but he did.

  It would have been easier if he hadn’t been in love with Sam, and known she was better without him. She’d called a few times, but despite the temptation, he let the calls go to voice mail. He didn’t want her to hope for what would never be. The chances of him having a firestorm soon were slim, and the chances of having one with her were practically non-existent. It would be better for her to fall in love with someone else and be happy.

  Once again, he chose for the greater good and not his own. Maybe the Apothecary’s role would change after the end of the wars, and change for the good.

  Sloane met up with Thorolf and Chandra the last evening and smiled at Chandra’s practical way of wearing her son in a kind of sling. Partnership and motherhood hadn’t slowed her down in the least, and he wondered whether the sacrifice of her immortality had even changed her much. Thorolf, on the other hand, had been transformed by his firestorm. He was a devoted father and at ease in his skin as he had never been before. Watching them together made Sloane yearn for something that might never be his.

  What if he didn’t have a firestorm? What if he never had a chance? What if he failed and the Pyr paid the price? He felt as if his father laid a hand on his shoulder then, and chose again to believe.

  On the morning of the eclipse, Liz and Brandon joined them, as well. There were sparks on the tips of Liz’s fingers, and she smiled when Sloane glanced at them. “Fire in the air,” she said and he assumed the pending eclipse was awakening the Firedaughter.

  Brandt and Arach were taking the train and would arrive with the first flood of tourists. Melissa and Rafferty had arrived the day before and would meet them in the city. Melissa was determined to film this final battle, and Erik had agreed on the condition that it would be the last episode about the Pyr that she filmed.

  Sloane supposed it would be, one way or the other.

  They approached Machu Picchu from above in silence and in darkness. The group perched on the side of the trail to watch the sunlight touch the mountain peak opposite. Mist swirled in the valleys below and the city was empty. It was clearly a sacred place, at least to Sloane, the majesty of creation and the ingenuity of man in perfect harmony.

  “The Huayna Picchu,” Chandra said quietly as that distant peak was illuminated.

  The light spread gradually into the valley below, banishing the shadows and illuminating the ruins of the great city. Sloane caught his breath at his first glimpse of it. He’d seen photographs, but nothing had prepared him for this marvel. “It ends where it began,” he said quietly, then pointed. “Sara’s parents were killed by a Slayer on that road right after the moon’s node turned.”

  “It’s Slayers who will die tonight,” Thorolf said. There was a moment of silence as the others clearly hoped that would be the case.

  “The Incan monarchs were believed to be the children of the sun,” Chandra continued. “Personifications of the divine sun, taken flesh to rule men.”

  “That’s not very different from carrying the divine spark of the Great Wyvern,” Sloane mused.

  “Maybe we’ve come here because of the link with the element of fire,” Liz suggested.

  “That’s not the only element present,” Thorolf noted. “Air and water and earth are here, too.”

  “All in balance,” Sloane said. “And countered by the influence of man. It’s an incredibly harmonious place.” They all agreed, and Sloane couldn’t help thinking that this was the perfect place to defeat the Slayers for all time, securing the relationship between humans and Pyr forever.

  “There are several Incan foundation stories that have been recorded, although it’s not clear which one was their favorite,” Chandra continued. “They didn’t write, so the stories were recorded by others. I like the one about the brothers who were sons of the sun and instructed to found an empire where they could sink a sacred stick completely into the ground.”

  “So there’d be soil for planting crops,” Sloane said, having noted the rockiness of the ground on his trip.

  “Yes, but here’s the part you’ll like. Manco was good and just. He followed instruction and established the empire at Cuzco. Ayar, however, was cruel and reckless. He was either sealed into a rock or turned to ice, to contain his wickedness forever.”

  “It’s the same duality as Pyr and Slayers,” Brandon said. “And the same juxtaposition of fire against ice and stone.”

  Sloane couldn’t help but think of the Slayer who had been in his fridge, never mind that the same Slayer had broken free of an egg that could have been considered a stone prison.

  “The Inca had a healthy respect for the elements, as well as being keen observers of the sun, moon and stars,” Chandra said. She pointed to an oddly shaped stone on a platform to the left. “That’s the Intihuatana.”

  “The hitching post of the sun,” Brandon supplied.

  “For the tethering of the sun god Inti at the winter solstice, to ensure he returned the following summer,” Slo
ane said. “Do you think we might find the eggs there?”

  Chandra and Liz shrugged in unison. “We’ve spent months here, studying every rock that looked promising,” Chandra said.

  “With zero results,” Liz concluded. “We just have to wait for them to stir.”

  Sloane indicated the sparks on Liz’s fingertips. “If you’re sensitive to the pending eclipse, maybe they’re responding to it, too.”

  “Either way, we have the day to search again,” Thorolf said, getting to his feet. The entire city was bathed in golden light now. Sloane could hear a distant train approaching and knew the site would soon be flooded with tourists. “The eclipse isn’t until tonight.”

  “Any particularly strong candidates?” Sloane asked Chandra and Liz.

  “I’d think the Temple of the Condor or the Royal Palace might be good choices,” she said, pointing out the two structures. “But that might also be where Sigmund would have expected us to look.”

  “I vote for the Temple of the Condor,” Thorolf said.

  “We should split up,” Brandon said. “Then meet in a couple of hours to compare notes.

  They nodded and stood to descend into the city, before there was a rustling of wings. Chandra tipped her head back and smiled as she watched a large black and white bird soar overhead. “A condor,” she whispered. “They were revered by the Inca.”

  “Or is it your friend Snow?” Thorolf asked.

  Chandra didn’t reply, but watched the bird circle back toward them. It swooped over their heads, gave a cry as if in recognition of Chandra, then dove down toward the city again. Raynor echoed Snow’s cry with incredible accuracy and reached out a hand toward the bird.

  “I’m following Snow,” Chandra said with resolve. She strode down the trail, one arm wrapped protectively around Raynor, Thorolf right behind her.

  Sloane found his gaze returning to the curiously shaped stone used to tether the sun god. That was where he’d search for Sigmund’s hidden eggs.